I was having a really awful dream about you last night. We were walking through the park (I don't know why. We've never gone to the park together) and talking about love, your ex-wife, our children, our dreams and everything we wanted out of this life. The dream was sweet until, quite suddenly, you turned on me and started saying all the things I've always feared that you carry around in your heart. You were hurtling insults and anger and it pierced me. In my dream, I cried. I cried for you and for what we could have been. What we were. I cried for a friend that I had lost, not only in my dreams, but in life.
I was awoken from that dream at 1:30 this morning by the phone ringing in my ear. It was you, calling from a friend's house, drunk. You're always drunk. I don't know why you called but the coincidence was unnerving. As usual, you made me feel guilty for things that were never my fault. You made me regret things that should only be yours to regret. You made me feel sad and small. You never mean to do it and yet, it happens every time I hear your voice.
You want to see me before you leave for training next week. You want me to see you, you say. You want me to see you sober. You want to see if I like you when you're simply you, inhibited and natural, without the liquid confidence that comes from hours of drinking with your boys. You want me to see you. But I won't…I will never see you again.
